Wednesday, June 01, 2005

 

The Resume (A Random Anecdote)

Job #4: Snack-Bar Boy (Epilogue)

Or

What I Did On My Summer Vacation (22 Years Ago)

Being A Complete and Accurate Account of the Attack and Subsequent Pursuit of the Magazine Man's Crazy Boss, and of the Disposition of Certain Kitchen Utensils

As Told to the Magazine Man


By His Brother, Age 40 (almost)


Well, in the first place, what neither of you ever seemed to realize is...I didn't burn Michael with the spatula. I never burned him with the spatula.

When I got to the snack shack, Michael was already biting you like some dirty-fighting wrestler and you were screaming (like a little girl, I might add). I thought if I just grabbed him, he'd be like some gila monster and wouldn't let go. Not that I cared if he tore your nipple off. I just didn't want to hear any more girly-man screaming, and besides, you know who Mom would have blamed if you came home one nipple short.

If there had been a bucket of water handy, I'd have thrown it on both of you (which would have been awesome, by the way). Remember when Pilgrim [our old dog--MM] was in heat and some dog would come along and try to hump her? Remember how Dad would throw a bucket of water on them or spray them with the hose? That's what I thought of. Only there was no bucket.

So I grabbed the ice cream scoop from out of the open freezer and put it on Michael's neck.

He jumped off you so fast he knocked it out of my hand (didn't you see it there lying on the floor? What the hell?) so when he saw me, all he saw was the spatula nearby. He jumped to same conclusion you did and it seemed to freak him out, so I just ran with the whole spatula thing. Now that I think about it, I wonder why it freaked him out so much? Remember how big he was on burning people (with his ciggies) for fun? You'd think he wouldn't care.

So: What happened after we tore ass down the hill?

Simple: At the bottom of the hill was the parking lot. Michael made it to his car and locked himself inside and wouldn't come out.

So I pissed in his gas tank.

No, I'm messing with you. He DID lock himself in, though, and then drove away. I winged the spatula at him and dinged his paint job, but that's about it.

He came back later and that night we got called into Jerry's (the boss) office for two reasons:

Reason #1: One of the residents ended up complaining about the bullshit that went on (you remember what a busy place it was. You really think the restaurant's manager could go running across the compound howling like a wolf and climb through the snack bar window, and his assistant manager would end up chasing him like Benny Hill on crack and nobody would notice?).

Reason #2: SOMEBODY quit the same day and NEVER CAME BACK and that sure didn't improve Jerry's mood, especially since it was the second time in two months the snack staff just up and left (and you didn't just drop the keys off and vanish. You made a big stink about it on your way out through the kitchen. You think that didn't get back to Jerry, you little blabber-mouth?)

Anyway, we both got our asses handed to us that night, so I wasn't too happy when I got home. Then Michael quit, like two days later, which sounds like good news, but who had to RUN THE WHOLE SHOW? BY HIMSELF? So I was further pissed.

I think Michael was scared that you were gonna call the cops or something. I might have made it sound like you were hurt worse than you were. I might have said something about tetanus shots. I might have said something about bite marks that the cops could trace to him. (Did you know he had a record for aggravated assault?)

I might have said and done a lot of things, but damn, that was 20 years ago. I didn't even remember half of what happened until you brought it up. How the hell is it you can remember this stuff, but you can't remember what you did with all the accessories to my S.W.A.T. action figures when you were 6? Or the fact that the Army belt you used for your movable crime unit thing when you were 11 was MINE? [it was a Mobile Crime Lab--MM] Dad gave that belt to ME, you little shit. And I want it back.

But you can keep the spatula.

Love,
Your Brother


Comments:
Oh MY GOD - I am literally rolling on the floor laughing here!

I have new found respect for your Mother, raising the two of you? She should be Sainted. Kudos to both your parents for raising two boys with such great sense of humor.

Thanks to Big Bro for finally spilling the beans. Now I have Benny Hill music in my head and an image of you chasing Michael down the hill waving the spatula.

"The Adventures of Magazine Man" sounds like a good title for that screenplay........
 
awesome. loved it. --b
 
I am still laughing after reading it another 3 times ...

The whole thing is just hillarious.

Sainted? I hereby pledge my allegiance to the lady who gave birth to these two fine chaps.

Simply briliant.
 
Believable, yet unbelievable. Good shit.
 
OMG your brother is as funny as you are. :)

But you know... Now, instead of brandishing that spatula while giving your neighbors the evil eye and shouting, "You want some of this?!" you'll have to use... an ice cream scoop. Sorry.
 
Yo,

I almost have all of the EP III toys. I'm only missing #38 The Tank Gunner Clone Trooper. I've been looking for that mofo for a couple weeks now and I can't find him anywhere!

Oh well, I'm sure he'll turn up. You must have the hook-up if you have toy companys sending you action figures.

I hope your son enjoys them as much as I do.(unopened and hanging on the wall.)
 
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